Super Sunday
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Grissom and Sara share a longstanding American tradition.


_A silly little story for boubabe14 because I lost a bet to her. For the record, she's a Colts fan and I am overwhelmingly not. I'm a Patriots fan, so... but since I'm not a sore loser... this is for her._

_And just wanted to point out to mingsmommy that this is all fluff, so boo-yah!_

* * *

There were far too many brands of beer in the refrigerator. Far too many.

Sara reached in, tentatively, and pushed one of the six packs aside, searching the back for anything edible. What she found, however, were two cans of salsa, string cheese and a non-fat pudding pack. Sighing, she stood back and let the door swing shut casually.

She'd taken Sunday off with the hopes of spending a day indulging Grissom in a long-held tradition that he'd just recently told her about; she just wasn't sure how far he actually took it, how dedicated he was. Sara didn't know that this day was akin to a high holy day for him.

Sara didn't know that this was really as big as others made it seem.

Weeks went by and Grissom paid close attention, read the papers, kept a chart. He was chatty about it in the break room and out in the field. Leaning back against the counter, Sara stared at the front of the freezer door and read the tattered headline on the newspaper clipping being held by a magnet: Bears to Super Bowl.

Hanging her head, she laughed at herself, spun around and dug through the fruit bowl for an apple. As she took her first, boisterous bite into the fruit he rounded the corner. It was difficult for her to keep her food in her mouth, she began to laugh so hard. Grissom paused as he was about to cross the threshold to the living room, "What?"

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and laughed harder, "Hon, hon," she began but the sentence was tempered by overwhelming mirth. "Oh goodness you look like a frat guy gone wrong and it's so cute!" Sinking her teeth once more into her apple, she attempted to keep the giggles at bay.

To be fair, it wasn't really her fault; he was standing before her in a pair of well-worn jeans (the ones that made his ass look more fantastic than she usually thought it to be) and an oversized Bears jersey with the name Hampton emblazoned on the back of it. On his head he had a tattered cap, tipped unknowingly to the side, just a little. The hair at his temples peeked out in unruly curls.

She'd been wrong with her first assessment. He didn't look like a frat boy, he looked like a little boy who'd been dressed in team garb by an overenthusiastic father. Licking her lips, she set her lips in a line and really, _really_ tried to keep the laughter in but it managed to leak out in a few, odd chuckles.

Grissom pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. Disregarding her reaction, he made his way into the living room and flopped down on the couch. After all the years regarding him as a superior scientific mind, an overwhelmingly intelligent man in all regards, a reclusive, cultured individual, she was surprised to find that he indulged himself like any other man might. He enjoyed football and baseball, followed statistics and knew the big players on all the teams, knew the significant threats for championship games. When it was the off season he would watch hockey and basketball though not as enthusiastically as he would baseball and football. It had floored her, when she had first seen him reclining on the sofa, beer in hand, watching the last quarter of the Packers-Lions game.

Now, he was nearly jumping out of his skin with excitement. He'd told her a story once, once when they were both lethargically lying in each others' arms, he'd told her of his father's obsession with the Chicago Bears and their Sundays in front of the grainy television, watching the games as his father patiently explained what was going on, what a sack was, what an off tackle was and why the running back had to do it in certain situations, what a line of scrimmage was. He told her how he'd eaten salsa and cheese and cheered when his team, when his _father's_ team got a touchdown.

Watching him flip from ESPN to CBS and back was both amusing and touching. Allowing her mouth to twitch up one last time, she grabbed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and moved into the living room, where she settled next to him on the couch. Handing one to him, she watched as he took it absent-mindedly and took a large gulp. "You're not going to be one of those women who constantly ask questions as to what's going on, are you?"

For a moment she was insulted, but then she looked over at him and saw the look on his face; he was taunting her, taunting her because he could. Sara swatted him lightly on the arm and settled into the space between the back of the sofa and the arm, pulling her legs up underneath her.

Grissom looked over at her one last time before grabbing something front the end table and holding it in front of her.

"I got this for you." Turning the cap over in hers hands she regarded it for a moment before she tossed it back at him, the cap bouncing off of his chest.

Sara cleared her throat and took a sip of her beer. "Yeah... not wearing that."

Slowly, his head turned towards her, a mask of surprised. "Why not?"

"Come on," she said, eyes focused on the television, "Just because you're a Chicago fan doesn't mean I am." Grissom blinked and he stared at her for a moment before she responded. "For reasons I shouldn't have to explain, I'm a New England fan, but just for the record, I hate the Colts." Smiling, he lifted his bottle and took a long sip, cradling the beer afterwards.

"I suppose I can live with that."

Sara laughed, sputtering her beer a bit, "Honey, you _are_ living with that; you're living with a Patriots fan. How does that make you feel?" Sara slid her legs out and laid them over his knees carefully. He sighed and smiled and leaned forward to put his beer on the coffee table; his hands landed then on her thighs and began to rub.

Trailing his fingers up and down her legs, he thought for a moment. "Well you're living with a Bears fan, how do _you_ feel about _that_?"

Sara smiled at him and sat up slowly, sliding her body closer to his. Allowing her lips to fall against the side of his neck. "Well," came her raspy answer, "As long as you love my eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, I think I can deal with it."

He felt her lips smile against his skin and he spared one last look at the television before turning to pin her against the back of the couch. "Oh see, I love everything, every little thing about you, so that might be a problem. I don't just love the quirks, I like all the completely normal stuff too."

They kissed for awhile, lazily making out on the couch while Howie Long discussed the weaknesses of Indianapolis's defense. As his finds found the waistband to her jeans, Sara sat up abruptly. "The game's gonna start," she said.

"You're kidding right?" Grissom asked, his hat skewed, he sat up looking disheveled.

Sara leaned against him and tipped her head up to look at his face, "So maybe I'm more into football that I originally let on."

"Maybe?" he inquired, staring at her with a perplexed look on his face.

Sara blinked and sat up properly, grabbing her beer before settling away from him. "Oh, whatever. Go Bears."

"Go Bears," he concurred and they toasted as the ball was kicked off.


End file.
